The Spark
by singingstarryknights
Summary: Gunshot residue was always Greg's least favorite type of forensic evidence. Post 6x24.


Sara Sidle returned home to her building in the mid afternoon, what would translate as the early morning hours for anyone on graveyard. She hadn't been able to wipe the grin off her features, and had reluctantly left Grissom's bed to come home for a shower and a change of clothes before making good on her promise to meet him at the hospital to check on Brass. The first time she had slept with Hank, it was just that, sex. There was no passion, just movements. The first time she had slept with Greg, neither of them could stop laughing, as they tripped over a series of inanimate objects in the process of pulling each other's clothes off, making it not to bed, but to the coffee table before neither of them could stand the space between them anymore.

But Grissom. With Grissom it was different. Of course, she ever expected anything with him to be ordinary. She had never expected to see that side of him. Nor had she expected to see a man curled up in her doorway as she rounded the corner.

Greg.

Greg Sanders was leaning against her doorjamb, and her door, as she came around the corner, half asleep, nursing a steaming mug of coffee. She stopped dead, teetering over the decision of whether or not to bolt back to Grissom's now, or face the younger man who was literally blocking her way back home. Greg made the choice for her, however, when he looked up, and threw her an apologetic half smile, draining the coffee from the mug in his hands.

"Janet remembered me." He offered as an explanation of the coffee and the mug. Leave it to Greg to attend to the details before addressing the most pressing issue. She didn't care that her neighbor had given him a cup of coffee, that just meant he had been there for a while, and Janet was going to be extra talkative at the mailboxes. Of course he didn't bother to explain why he was sitting in front of her door.

"I see that." She sighed, leaning against the wall a few feet from him, weary of putting herself in too close a proximity to him. "Why are you here, Greg?"

He didn't answer right away, instead getting up, and leaning against the other wall of the corridor. She arched an eyebrow at him, frowning, wanting nothing than a hot shower to sooth her sore muscles, relish in the events that had transpired after she and Grissom had left the hospital. She watched as he swept an investigative eye over her, taking in her appearance.

"You didn't come home." His tone held a hurt, disappointed quality that broke her heart. Good God, he'd been sitting out on her stoop since he left the hospital. He had been sitting out here the whole time. She had been sleeping with Grissom, and he had been patiently waiting for her to get home.

She shouldn't feel guilty.

But she did.

They weren't together anymore; she could sleep with whomever she pleased. She didn't have to tell him where she'd been, whom she'd seen. They were just coworkers now. She shouldn't feel guilty.

"I was at Grissom's." She tried to sound causal, like they had shared a pot of coffee instead of a bed. His gaze flickered to her hair, the telltale sign of what had really taken place between her and Grissom. He would know. He was the one that used to tease her about the way her meticulously straightened hair turned curly from the sweat they used to work up. He used to say that that was the real Sara, sheets draped haphazardly around her body, not bothering to cover all of her anatomy, curls spread out across the pillow, a grin on her face as her breathing returned to normal. For an instant, he let his expression waiver, and she witnessed a flash of misery grace his features before he pulled himself together.

"Greg-"

"I get it. I, ah, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Obviously Grissom beat me to it." He bit his lip, giving away his disappointment before steeling himself with indifference. "I'll see you at the lab." He started to make his way down the corridor, but she caught him, reaching out and touching his arm.

"Greg, come inside, I'll make some coffee." He shook her hand away, and threw her a weary smile.

"I should get home." With that, she watched his retreating form disappear around the corner, closing her eyes as she listened to his footsteps as they thudded down the stairs, pausing to swing open the door, and slamming it behind him, causing her to flinch.

She shouldn't be feeling guilty.

Groaning, she crossed the hallway and slid her key in the lock, pushing the door open and locking herself in. Greg seeped into every aspect of her life, and when they were together, when they were happy, she had welcomed his presence, his smile, his laugh. Now, their relationship had crumbled, and she still let him flood her life. It left her to wonder why she had closed him out in the first place.

No. She wasn't going to dwell on Greg, not when her muscles wouldn't let her forget what had happened between her and Grissom only hours before. Tenderly, she made her way to the bathroom, running the water until hot, and wincing as she stripped off her clothes, stepping into the spray, and making the curls lie flat under the water pressure. Her favorite part of showering after sex was discovering all those spots that she would have to keep hidden with clothing for the next five to seven days. She smiled faintly, and glanced down at her skin.

Nothing.

Grissom had left no mark. She paused, examining her body more closely. Her skin remained unblemished, reddened only by the heat of the water. Did he not want her? Why had he not claimed her? Didn't he know that she was his? She frowned, checking the patches of skin she remembered him giving attention to.

Nothing.

Greg had always left a few marks, claiming that they were tangible evidence of the love they had, the passion they harbored for each other.

Could the love be there, even when the marks on her skin were not?

She had been trying to get into Grissom's bed since arriving from San Francisco. Probably long before that. Had fantasized about becoming intimate with him for years. She had always thought that climbing on top of him, writhing beneath him, feeling him inside her, waking up beside him, would make her complete, make her happy. So long she had wanted to feel the touch of his lips to hers, his skin against hers, his attention concentrated on her. It was what had ruined her relationship with Greg, this uncontrollable yearning for Grissom. Was it all really worth it? She reached down to retrieve the bottle of shampoo, and her fingers grazed the half empty bottle that Greg hadn't bothered to pick up. Glancing around her shower, a few more of his toiletries littered the edges of her tub, where he had last left them, nearly two months ago. She hadn't been ready to throw them out yet. Maybe she still wasn't ready to let go.

To be frank, sex with Greg was different than sex with Grissom. It wasn't that one was better than the other, they were just, different. Not that she had expected sleeping with Grissom to be anything like sleeping with Greg, nether man had anything in common except maybe a love of science, and even then, different branches; and a love for her, but in different manifestations. They were different people. She needed to remember that. Sara sighed heavily, and plucked her shampoo out from the assortment of bottles on the edge of the tub, most of which belonged to Greg. Maybe she was overanalyzing. Maybe she needed to not think.

Grissom had been gentle, slow, loving. She had never seen him need anything as desperately as he needed her. He let her take control, let her set the pace, but had responded lovingly, readily, making her feel as if she was this man's Holy Grail, the treasure he had always sought after, and only just now was discovering.

Greg could be gentle. Greg could be loving, slow. But Greg could be a lot of other things. Greg made her laugh, Greg made her feel eighteen. Greg's constant smile reminded her to not always take her work so seriously, to not get lost in cases so much that she spent three months trying to find her way back to normalcy. Greg could be fast, Greg could be rough, but he could be sweet, and his slow was usually fantastic torture, he had her body wanting release so badly he would tease her when she resorted to a plead for him to be inside her. Greg could take her anywhere, anytime, and each time they were intimate was different, new.

She hardly thought of Grissom as the slam-you-up-against-a-wall-so-_that's_-why-you-wear-shirts-with-buttons type.

Was every time with Grissom going to be the same? Were they going to fall into a routine, each night? Would she have to sacrifice her love of spontaneity that she had discovered with Greg? She frowned as she scrubbed her skin clean, rinsing the morning's activities from her body. Was she washing away Grissom as well? Even after showering, with Greg, she could still feel him, still see him, know that he had been there. She was a scientist, she needed physical proof, and there it went, swirling down the drain with the rest of the soap and water.

She didn't know what to say to him as she walked down the hospital corridor, spotting his figure sitting back on the bench across the hall from Brass' door. She shoved a hand in her pocket, and ran the other through her curls, offering him a smile as he noticed her figure making her way over to him. She sat down beside him, accepting the gentle kiss he pressed to her lips, and taking his hand in her lap.

"Ellie's in there now." He let her turn his hand over with hers, examining his palm, as his gaze swept over her quickly. "I'd almost forgotten you hair did that." He flashed her a halfhearted smile, and she let the corner of her mouth curve up into a small grin, never taking her attention away from his hand. His fingers felt different from Greg's, not that she expected them to be identical. She traced the line in the center of his palm with her index finger, and his fingers didn't move. Greg would have closed his fingers over hers, and pulled her towards him, dropping an impolite kiss to her lips, even in public. With Greg there was always a comment to be made, a sexual innuendo to giggle over, something to talk about, smooth and dirty pillow talk to be whispered when no one was looking.

She and Grissom sat outside Brass' room in silence.

She was doing it again, comparing an old lover with the new. Vaguely she wondered how they were going to handle this at work. She and Greg had kept their torrid love life successfully out of the lab, their passion for each other out of the gossip pool at PD. This was clearly not going to be the case with Grissom. It wasn't that she was ashamed, she had wanted to tell their colleagues, she had wanted to kiss him in greeting whenever he entered the room she was in. It had been Greg's idea to keep their love away from their work. With the exception of the handful of quickies in the backseat of the Denali.

Then, right there in the middle of the hallway of one of the wings of Desert Palms, Sara realized she no longer thought about the words coming out of her mouth.

"Ecklie'll put me on Days." She dropped his hand, crossing her arms over her chest, and he sat back, staring at some point across the hall, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes wearily. Greg would have at least felt her up before taking away his hand.

"Sara-"

"He'll rip you to pieces. He'll fire me. Finally he has an excuse."

"No one's getting fired."

"I don't want to move to Days, Gris."

"We'll work it out." His tone was even, resolute. It only made her want to scream.

"How? What are we going to do?" She didn't want to be placated; she wanted a plan for shift in a few hours. He sighed, and she continued. "They're going to bury us with policy violations."

"One needs to be slow to form convictions, but once formed they must be defended against the heaviest odds."

"And what does Gandhi say about sleeping with your boss?" She let her gaze wander down the hall, not bothering to look him in the eye.

"Sara-"

"This is what ruined my other relationships. The possibility of something with you. Always wondering what life would be like with you. If I would have been happy with you."

"I love you, Sara. Nothing will change that. Not Ecklie, not lab policies, nothing." His words came out quietly, and when she placed a hand on the side of his face, he turned into her, matching her gaze. Sara leaned in, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, pulling away after a few moments.

"But you don't love me more than the job." She smiled sadly at him, and pulled her hand away as she stood from where she had been sitting on the bench beside him.

"Sara, wait."

"I've got somewhere I need to be. Tell Brass I'll come around after shift." She took a few steps down the hallway, before turning at catching Grissom's eye. He looked like a broken man, watching her leave him with his head in his hands, his eyes watering slowly. She wouldn't let her heart break. She wouldn't run back to a man who would always love her second best. She wouldn't allow herself to be runner-up to cicadas and flies. She bit her lip, considering the man before her. She had wanted this. She had wanted him. She moved to Vegas for him. She became a workaholic following in his professional footsteps. Everything she did in Vegas, she did to be closer to Gil Grissom.

And now that she had had him, all she wanted was for things to go back to the way they were. It wasn't that she didn't love him. She loved him deeply.

It was that she loved Greg more.

"Goodbye, Gris." She turned on her heels, shoving her hands in her pockets, and disappeared down the hall, and turning the corner, out of sight. Now she could love Greg the way he deserved. Now she was ready.

She knocked on the door to Greg's apartment, finding comfort in the shuffling around she could hear inside as he came to the door. He swung it open, frowned at her presence on his stoop, and swung it shut without a word.

"Greg! I need to talk to you." She banged on his door again, harder this time. "Let me in." The lack of response worried her, and for a second, she panicked, thinking perhaps she'd burned too many bridges today. "Please, Greg." She whispered, and he sighed on the other side of the door, hearing her tears hitched in her throat. Greg glanced around his apartment; she was snuggled into the crevices of his life even after more than a month of not being together. He groaned, not wanting to deal with her tornado of a personality, spinning around his space and upsetting his mental health all over again. He started to walk away from the door, deciding between collapsing on his bed or watching another rerun of ER on the couch, when she banged on his door harder still, and made his way back to the door, swinging it open again, abruptly.

"I have nothing to say to you." He started to close the door again, and she placed her hand over the doorjamb, keeping him from slamming it in her face with her fingers. He shifted his weight impatiently, and frowned at her. "_What_, Sara."

"About earlier-"

"The part where you slept with Grissom or the part where you came home with sex curls?"

"Greg-"

"'Cause I don't want to hear about how good he is in bed. I don't want to hear about how you screamed his name, how long he took, or how long you took, or what kind of marathon you were going for, what kind of record you set. I don't want to hear about how he claimed you, I don't want to know where the marks are, okay?" Greg let go of the door, leaving it open, and retreated into his apartment. Sara stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

"I know you're mad-"

"Oh I'm not mad. This is not mad. I can't be mad. We aren't together. You can sleep with whomever you want, I don't care. This is me, not caring." He turned, and stood before her, shoulders slouched in defeat, tears threatening to tumble over, down his cheeks. She took a step forward, but he took a step back, leaving the space between them. "Oh you can't touch me. You can't just walk into my life and touch me, like the past twenty-four hours haven't happened. Ecklie may think I'm the village idiot, but stupid is something I am not." He frowned as she stood her ground, her resolve breaking, her own tears falling freely. For an instant she saw his expression soften. He still loved her. "He broke up with you." His voice held a soft, quiet timbre as his whisper hung in the air between them. He bit his lip in an attempt to steel himself again, he didn't want her to know what she did to him, how loving her had destroyed him completely. She shook her head, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized was in him, leaving him feeling deflated, defenseless.

"What happened?" He watched her rub the tears from her eyes roughly, and he wondered vaguely as to how he was going to listen to the details of her and Grissom without wanting to kill himself. The notion that his boss had even seen her body, let alone touch it, made him feel sick, not that he didn't like Grissom, or respect him, but the effect he had had on the love of his life made him want to slam his boss against a wall, and threaten bodily harm if he came anywhere near her again. They had had something special, him and Sara, a whole life they kept secret from the lab. They had been happy. In love. Talking about getting married, talking about having children. Talking about spending the rest of their forevers in each other's company.

Now all he wanted was her out of his house.

"He'll always love me second best. I can't live with that." Her whisper was soft, and she pushed a few stray curls out of her face, not bothering to hide her reddened eyes from him.

"Did you come here to tell me you're moving on to Nick now? Cause he's the only one that isn't married that you haven't slept with. Or are you moving on to PD?" He was being mean. He didn't care. She shot him a look of frustration, but he didn't back down. She had lost that power over him nearly two months ago.

Well, he wanted her to think that, anyway. It's validity as an argument was questionable.

"Greg, stop."

"You knew he'd never put you before forensics, Sara. He has never, in his life, chosen anyone over the job. What made you think you were different?"

"I had hoped-"

"What? That he would change? That he'd be addicted, to your smile, to your laugh, to the feel of your skin instead of the stupid bugs? Do you know him at all, Sara? Or have you just lost your mind?"

"Greg-"

"No, I think you've lost it completely, I mean you pushed me away, you push him away, and now you have two men struggling to get over you, struggling to move on with their lives, because if he's a decent human being he'll hurt, and you're all alone. Good job, Sara. You've alienated both of us. I guess I must be the lucky one. I got to love you for more than a year. None of us are getting any younger, Sara. Make up your fucking mind." He was yelling, yelling at her. Greg covered his mouth with his hand, choking out a sob. He had never yelled at her in his entire life. He'd never been this angry, this hurt before, either. She closed the distance between them tentatively, reaching out to push a stray curl away from his face. He didn't flinch, or pull away, let her wipe away the tears from his cheek with the pad of her thumb.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, and she shook her head, dismissing his apology.

"I have. Made up my mind." He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking out more tears, not willing to hear about how much more wonderful, more loving, Grissom is, how much more happier she was planning on being with him.

"I do hope you're happy with him, Sara. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy." She smiled kindly at him, coughing out a gentle laugh between her tears.

"I was happy. With you. I want to be happy again." Greg frowned at her, processing her words slowly.

"You can't have both of us, Sara. You have to choose. Me or him." She stepped into his space, laying an arm around his shoulders, and one at his waist, leaning her forehead against his. "I can't keep doing this."

"I know. I'm sorry." He nodded in acceptance of her apology only just, looping his arms around her waist, letting his fingers touch her hips for the first time since the beginning of April. She was a drug, and he was a junkie. She was every pain of the last two months, and she was every joy of the last six years.

"I'm still angry with you."

"I know."

"We can't just pick up where we left off."

"I know."

"We have to talk about this. All of this."

"I know." He sighed, relaxing into her touch, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent, of chamomile and fresh laundry; that had faded from his pillow not two days after she had left him. He wrapped his arms around her waist tightly, hugging her, as her arms encircled his shoulders, hugging back. When he pulled out of her grasp, she let him, and she relaxed as he tossed her a tentative smile before making his way to the kitchen, and rummaging around in what she knew was the general vicinity of the tin of coffee. "Greg? Are we going to be okay?" Sara wiped the remainder of her tears away from her face, taking a few steps toward him, and leaning on the other side of the counter. He didn't answer right away, pouring the grounds into the coffeemaker, and pressing the seal back on the tin.

"Eventually." He reached up, taking her mug down from where she had left it right before she walked out on him the first time. "We have a lot of stuff to work through."

"I know."

"We'll have to take it slow, one day at a time."

"I can do that."

"And if all this was a ploy to get out of getting me a birthday present, you pulled it off with conviction." She laughed, for the first time in days, and he filled her mug for her and placed it on the counter, tossing her a weary smile.

"I'll never miss your birthday again, I promise." He smiled as she humored him, and leaned over on his elbows on the other side of the counter, sipping his coffee slowly.

"As long as we're clear. No breaking of hearts, no loving anyone else, and no missing birthdays." She caught his gaze, and for a moment she saw the spark that she had loved so much flash in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Greg." He nodded, solemnly accepting her apology.

"Those are just words." He took a sip from his mug, and gave her a warm smile. "Show me that you love me, so I can begin to love you back again."

With that, Sara leaned over the narrow counter, and pressed the lightest of kisses to his lips, pulling away after a few moments. She tasted of coffee, and toothpaste, and mint, the kind she always kept in her truck. She tasted just as he remembered, unshaken, untainted by her hours spent with their boss.

Maybe, just maybe, they could be okay.

………

A/N: Stupid GSR. I made it my mission to make the last thirty seconds of the season finale into a sandle moment. This is for my fellow GregSara believers. Never lose hope.


End file.
